It is the last morning of September. The whirring of mountain crickets and trilling of birds mixes with cool air as I rock in my chair on our deep-set front porch. The glow of mid-morning feels alive, resilient, popping the cheerful goldenrod as it dots our field with Autumnal whimsy. My heart aches to enter in, to feel alive throughout every part of me — body, mind, soul and spirit.
Our barn kitties, Clive and Tasha, are exploring a few yards from where I sit with our Bernedoodle, Sophie, sprawled at my feet. The light breeze tickles the melodic wind chimes and flaps the Stars and Stripes hanging from the porch. It never ceases to bring my heart to wonder, the sounds and sensations of nature enveloping me when I pause to pay attention and tune in.
Clive dashes with lightning speed up a locust tree, balancing on a high thin bow, before turning and scuttling back down. A moment later, Tasha is showing off, climbing even higher, as if to say, “Let your momma show you how it’s done!” I laugh to myself as I watch them play, their athleticism filling me with awe. I imagine what it might be like to have that same prowess, that calm confidence and determination in the face of great heights. The next breath, my heart feels a sense of apprehension, for I am a person who fears heights of most any variety.
I flash back to childhood, to the apple tree in our front yard which had a three-pronged branch at the tippy top that held itself like an outstretched hand. My younger sister, Rachel, would finagle her way up the swaying branches and sit proudly in the little natural “seat”, peering down over her kingdom — a large green field spotted with glowing yellow dandelions between our house and the neighbors’ and her big sister’s small, nervous face. I’d stare up at her through the rustling leaves, heart racing with fear intermixed with longing, desire clutching my chest to experience that adventure and freedom. If I could only make it to the top, I’d break free from the terror I carried on my back that weighed me down into my own personal nightmare. She melded with that wide open azure sky and the frill of late Spring’s pink and white blossoms, her long chestnut hair blowing about her innocent face as she giggled and squinted down at me. “C’mon!!!” she’d chirp. I’d stretch for the lowest hanging limb, still high above my head, making conflicted attempts to jump and grab hold of that first rung toward freedom. My hands scraped raw, my legs weak and jittery with anxiety, I’d eventually give up and stand at the base of my dream, worriedly telling her to be careful. She’d laugh and stare out at the wild world, one with nature, submerged in the present moment. I felt so alone, so ashamed, wishing I could figure out how to overcome the subliminal effect of fear on my body and mind. To this day, I carry a deep regret for the fear that held me back, and long to climb the crest of that tree and sit among her branches, free.
Coming back to the present moment, I say in earnest, “God — free me from my fear,” and I recognize as I whisper this that He is faithful to do it, for “Perfect Love casts out fear.” However, the ways in which Love works to bring this about are not always as easy as climbing a small apple tree. He aligns my path with someone difficult, with a situation that requires vulnerability and humility, with a scenario where the Unknown is markedly in my face like the smack of harsh Winter wind on bare, reddened cheeks. Will I still press forward with courage and grace, despite the inward flinching to turn back? We pray these earnest prayers for an integral shift in the softness of a moment, ungilded, enveloped in a sense of moderate safety. The inner ache of the hidden heart surfaces, like a gentle doe entering a serene meadow from the edge of dark woods at twilight. She is watchful, careful; yet the beauty of that open space tugs at her breast. She takes a risk in order to experience delight. In these moments of awakening, we are exposed, and lean in to the invitation to own our weaknesses, to hold them up to eternal hands much more capable than our own. We will be set free and move into a greater sense of wholeness one way or another, and it often involves hardship as much as lessons learned through ease. I think Spirit partners with us in these tender moments of awareness so our hearts are soft and open to Love, to learning and growing, to the evolution that is sure to come through subsequent pain and heights of joy and the quiet tasks of mundane living. We don’t get to fully choose how the fruit of our spirit is developed, but we can choose our attitude, outlook and the principles which will be our guiding compass in the ways we handle uncomfortable and trying times, as well as the summits of success and joy. Despite the stretching and pruning that is sure to come, despite the tentacles of fear throughout the layers of me, somewhere within, I know I can rest in the Gardener’s tender care of my soul.
Into The Deep 